I saw a few other men moving along the outskirts just like me, dressed in suits so as not to draw attention, but they had the same aim I did. I caught Dow’s eye, and he made some inane comment that got a laugh, but it was actually a code for Ford to keep his bullshit going a bit longer to let us get into position.
Finally, I was back where I needed to be, and I nodded at Dow again. Noble made another stupid joke, which was the sign for Ford to move ahead with the ceremony.
We were ready. We were in place. There was no turning away from this anymore. We were going to make this happen, no matter what, and let the chips fall where they may.
I glanced to my right and nodded at Spoil. He’d been quiet about this merger for a while, but when Larkin had asked for volunteers, he’d jumped at the chance. Since he was the other big enforcer in the Demons, it made sense that he was with me in this crucial moment.
“Do you take this fine-ass lady as your wife?” Ford was saying. I looked back toward them, ready and prepared.
“Yeah, I do,” Jetter said. I reached into my suit and gripped the knife handle, taking a step forward.
“And, Janine, do you take this guy as your husband?”
“Yes,” she said softly. I moved even closer, my whole body prepared, tingling with excitement.
I’d dreamed of this moment since this all began. Ever since Janine had been put under my protection, I’d pictured what it would be like. And now, finally, I was doing exactly what I’d wanted to do for so fucking long.
“Good. Boys?”
Four pledges came darting out of the shadows. They grabbed Janine and Caralee and dragged them away, practically throwing them to the side.
I moved forward, drawing the knife from my suit. Everything happened so fucking fast, just like we had planned and prepared.
I grabbed Jetter by the back of the head. “You lose,” I whispered in his ear.
Then I dragged my knife across his throat, cutting it wide open.
The place exploded into chaos. Next to me, Spoil rammed his knife into Burke’s back, twisting the handle. He cried out and Spoil pulled the knife out, hamming it into his neck. Burke fell to the ground, dead.
Jetter, meanwhile, clawed at the blood pouring from his throat. I kicked the back of his leg, dropping him to his knees. He didn’t say a word, couldn’t say a word. He simply bled out at my feet. My shoes and clothes were all drenched in his blood, and I grinned out at the Rebels, madness ringing in my ears.
Meanwhile, the whole Demons club were on their feet. Every single man had a gun out, and every single gun was pointed at the Rebels. Even Ford had ripped off his jacket and pulled out a small machine gun, pointing it at what was left of the Rebels.
They were shouting, on their feet, some of them drawing weapons. I simply stood there, covered in their leader’s blood, holding the knife in my hand.
I’d killed men before and for a lot of reasons, but this death felt the fucking best, because Jetter deserved it the most.
I wished I could have known what he was thinking just before I cut his throat wide open. He probably thought he’d won, despite his original plans failing. He probably thought he had outsmarted the Demons somehow.
But he hadn’t, not by a long shot. Once we figured out what his plans were, Larkin knew Jetter had to die.
And so that night, in Larkin’s office, he told us the plan. It was simple. We’d move forward with the plan to marry Janine to Jetter, but we’d murder him and Burke in front of the whole Rebels club. Then we’d give them a choice: join or die. We’d slaughter the whole club if we had to.
And so Larkin stood up, smiling calmly, and stood in front of the room. He fired his shotgun into the air.
“Shut the fuck up,” he yelled.
The men slowly quieted down.
He fired it again, a deep, booming blast. “Quiet, or you’ll all be fucking slaughtered like pigs.”
The men slowly stopped talking.
Larkin sighed. “That’s better. As you can see, we just killed your leadership. I’m betting that pisses a lot of you off, and I don’t blame you. But I’m not really such a bad guy, as many of you will come to find out. So here’s the deal: join or die, fellas.”
There was a general murmur among the Rebels. I couldn’t tell which way it was going to go, and most of them probably didn’t know either.
Suddenly, one of the Rebels pulled a gun. “Fuck this,” he hollered.
Five guns went off at the same time, riddling the Rebel with bullets. He dropped to the ground, dead on impact.
Nobody else moved.
“See, boys,” Larkin said, “you really don’t have much of a choice. Join or die.”
“You fucking heard him,” I barked. “You want to join the Demons, you strip off your fucking clothes. Now.”
The men stared at me. I grinned. I was covered in blood and probably looked pretty fucking terrifying.
“He’s not kidding,” Larkin said. “Take off your clothes, down to your fucking nutsack. Then we’ll work out what to do with the lot of you.”